


Anchor Me

by blkqueersenshi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blkqueersenshi/pseuds/blkqueersenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to a Scott McCall without an anchor?</p><p>He's always assumed that Allison was the thing holding him together, but four months after another "break," and he's left alone with a part of himself that he hasn't acknowledged and doesn't want to confront.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, first attempt at this, so feedback would be much appreciated.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd either, so there's that tidbit of info as well.

"I'm burning up. I'm burning up, and I can't breathe. Fuck, I really can't breathe. Am I having an asthma attack? No, that can't be. Calm down, Scott. Just...stay calm."

The light of the full moon shines through Scott's bedroom window, bathing him in its silver glow as he sits cross-legged on his bed, trying to breathe deeply and rhythmically in an attempt to control the shift. His skin crawls, and he swears that it's boiling--that if he were to open his eyes at that very instance he would see his skin bubbling. He's afraid to look, afraid of what he might see. He knows that it's physically impossible for his skin to do that, but the sensation is driving him wild. He's on the verge of tears, fingers digging into the comforter that he's had since he was thirteen.

"It can't be this hot right now? Focus. It's late winter, and my window is open. It has to be freezing right now. Focus on that. Freezing. Freezing. Freezing."

He feels his skin begin to cool a bit as reality slowly creeps back into his mind. His breathing calms more and levels out. The crisp winter air feels good against his lips as he slowly pulls the air into his mouth and deep into his lungs, and he forces himself to focus only on that action.

"Focus. Feel the air against your lips. Just…taste it, and stay calm.”

The pain suddenly rips through his thinly-veiled world of inner peace, a searing hot onslaught of pinpricks across the entirety of his body. He can't help it. A snarl rushes from his throat, filling the room with the sound of the torture that he's putting himself through. His eyes finally snap open, two small points of black rimmed in gold in the dark room.

Scott drops his head a bit in defeat once he sees his claws and the white stuffing of his comforter. The shift is almost completely upon him, and he's disappointed in himself. So disappointed. 

It had been four months since his current "break" with Allison. They had managed to run the Alphas out of town together--the werewolves and the Argent father-daughter duo. In the post-victory aftermath, Allison had rushed to an injured Scott, cradling him and kissing life back into his bruised body. They had only kissed once before that moment since their summer break from each other, and that kiss was definitely not in the same category. It had been fleeting, quick, and just enough to renew Scott's hope that Allison still felt something _more_ for him. This second kiss, though, this second kiss was everything that Scott had wanted--deep, long, life-giving. Allison wasn't merely kissing him. She was giving a part of herself to him, and Scott took as much as she would give, afraid that this might be the last time that she kissed him like that.

They eventually decided to give it another chance after that moment, though. Scott didn't want to chalk it up to the near-death experience being the driving force behind Allison's renewed attraction, and he prayed that this wasn't the case. He wanted what they had the year before. He wanted Allison knowing that she loved him just as much as he still loved her, and he decided that he would rather wait for that moment rather than rushing back into something that she wasn't invested in. He wanted her to truly be happy.

And she was for a while. They were both happy reliving what they once had. But that was just it--they were reliving a portion of their lives and not moving on, and this was taking a toll on them that Scott could feel early on. He could smell the uneasiness and worry on Allison, and that initial scent of heady love never returned. Scott hated it. He hated that he wasn't giving Allison the same feelings that he had, and he was afraid that he was forcing her into their renewed relationship. And so, he asked for the break this time. He asked to take some time apart, not for him, but for Allison. He wanted her to be truly happy, and her uneasiness pained him. 

Four months later, and he still couldn't rid himself of this image of Allison. He runs his tongue over the tip of his fangs, realizing that he only has a few more minutes until he's compelled to sprint out into the wilderness, to appease his baser instincts.

Allison doesn't anchor him anymore, and Scott knows it's because he can only see her as being uneasy and hurt. He misses that moment in his life when Allison was all he could think about, and she would immediately make him smile. She would immediately bring him back from the edge and keep him safely within his human zone. He sighs before another wave of pain overtakes him and a snarl replaces that brief exhalation of air. His body twists and convulses until he finds himself on the floor of his bedroom on all fours. He can no longer take the confines of his room, and he leaps from his second story window hitting the ground with enough force to leave four small craters. 

The air swirls around Scott, and he revels in it. He gives all of himself to the wild around him. It had been so long since he allowed his baser instincts to control him during the full moon. He stands and stretches each limb, feeling his bones creak and readjust to the slightly new shape that occurs with each shift. Each limb feels longer, more flexible. Scott knows he's so much more connected with his body, and he loves it. He allows the scent of the night to make him high, to dizzy him a bit before he sprints off into the darkness of the forest, the soil sinking beneath his bare feet. 

His thoughts are racing, muddled, and unintelligible, but of course he doesn't notice. The wind feels exhilarating against his skin. His mesh Beacon Hills High lacrosse shorts and gray tank do little to dull the feel of the night air as it rushes past him.

His gold eyes scour the ground catching sight of some hoof prints of a few deer that live in this section of the forest. He becomes fixated on them, and his body wants--needs--to seek these animals out. It had been so long since Scott allowed himself to indulge in the hunt, and while he had never killed, tonight felt different. Tonight, Scott needed to satiate his desires until he could find a new anchor. 

He halts, bends, and runs his claws over the prints, gathering dirt beneath his claws. He brings them to his nose and inhales deeply, catching the scent of the animals and feeling his blood begin to heat again. This time, his blood boils with anticipation--a completely loosed and wild anticipation of hunting. Scott stands and throws back his head, unleashing a howl that reverberates throughout the woods, proclaiming his excitement.

The sound of another wolf's howl answers his, and his thoughts of hunting are suddenly sidetracked.

"Isaac." 

He would know that particular wolf's call anywhere. Scott had only felt comfortable allowing his concerns about being a werewolf to be voiced to Isaac, and the two had steadily grown closer over the course of the Alpha attack on Beacon Hills. Their howls were actually the only reason that they had succeeded in saving Derek, Boyd, and Cora awhile back when their ambush on the Alphas had failed. Isaac and Scott had managed to confuse the group by casting their howls around them in a way that tripled their numbers and constantly varied their location, a trick that they thought the Alphas would less readily believe, as they had resorted to the same trick not too long before then, yet it had worked nonetheless.

Scott throws a call back at Isaac--a call of longing and desire. Scott sprints off toward Isaac's previous howl before his has even finished reverberating through the woods. He's on all fours, a position that seems awkward, yet it feels the most natural to him on nights when he allows the wolf to overtake his humanity. 

A chorus of howls finally return to him, somewhere slightly southwest of his current course, and he quickly fixes his path, speeding up in an attempt not to keep the other waiting. He flares his nostrils, soaking up more of the night, drawing it deep into his lungs. The musky scent of the forest floor is invigorating and drives him even faster. He breathes deep again, inhaling as much as possible. It smells of a recent rain that has somehow managed to cling to the earth longer than it should; it smells of the fear of a few smaller animals rushing to avoid his path, silent in their quick retreats into the underbrush; it smells of.....something too familiar, something that doesn't belong in the forest.

Scott crashes to a stop, digging the heels of his bare feet into the ground as he quickly shifts direction again, sprinting a bit more south, the direction the scent seems to be strongest. He doesn't know why, but the smell is driving him into a frenzy, and his first muddled thought is that it's Allison. The scent is too familiar, too connected to memories that are blurred in his current wolfed-out state. 

He sprints uphill, falling back down on all fours, trying to reach the scent to satiate his desire. He hops onto a guardrail that crests the hill, pushing off of the roadside structure to launch himself farther into the street. He falls to earth, rolling into the landing, and immediately returns to his sprint. 

The scent is almost overwhelming at this point, and Scott shakes his head trying to clear his nostrils of it. He can't think clearly. He can't even see beyond a red haze that covers the entire area--a physical manifestation of the scent's power. 

He rounds a bend in the road, a quarter of a mile from the spot he first landed, and that's when he spots it. That convenience store that he would always stop at on his way to school to grab something to scarf down and get him through  Algebra II. The lot lights are glaringly bright through his eyes now, and they only intensify the red haze covering everything. 

Scott grows frantic. He sprints into the parking lot of the convenience store, inhaling deeply. Processing the scent as much as possible. Allison? He's sure of it. It's the same scent that he associates with his baser feelings of love and desire. It's the same scent that he always picks up whenever he catches an unexpected glimpse of her and his heart beats a little faster. 

He scans the lot and finds no sign of the Argent vehicles, but something else catches his attention--a slightly dented and beat up old Jeep. The blue has faded to something closer to a tinted gray color, and the black top has a rip in it. A rip that was the result of an Alpha's claws attempting to get inside and tear Scott apart. 

Scott slowly walks over to the lone Jeep crookedly parked in front of the store and gently runs his claws over the imperfection.

"Stiles," he half whispers, half growls. He sniffs, taking the scent of the Jeep deep into his nostrils, and that's when it hits him. The scent that has been pulling him all along, the scent that he thought was Allison, was the scent clinging to this Jeep. And really, should that surprise him? Stiles is his best friend after all. Stiles is just as important and elicits just as many powerful emotions as Allison for Scott. He gives the smallest of smiles as the realization strikes him.

The red haze begins to retreat as Scott finds himself coming back down out of the overwhelming sensory high. He begins to scan the store, searching for a sign of his best friend, knowing that he's probably stopped off for a late night sugar rush.

Sure enough, he catches sight of Stiles in front of the gummy candies, eyeing the sour gummy worms intensely. He already has a pack in his hand, opened with at least several of the candies missing. Stiles raises his head a bit, and Scott sees two of the gummy worms hanging from his mouth.

He laughs. Or well, as close as he can get to laughing while still being wolfed-out. Because do werewolves even laugh? Scott had only ever seen them snarl and growl and bite one another. 

Stiles moves his hand from the sour worms and settles for a bag of gummy spiders instead. Scott notices the movement of Stiles throat and knows that he's probably dry laughing to himself. Ever since Scott admitted to having a slight fear of spiders in the third grade, Stiles always made it a point to have as many spider-related items around to occasionally tease him. He’d even gotten Scott to cry once before during a Halloween prank.

"Dude, a werewolf who's afraid of spiders? You're really doing justice to this whole superhuman thing," he'd always joke.

The thought makes Scott smile a bit more. Smiling around fangs proves to be rather difficult, though, and Scott just shakes his head and moves a bit more around the Jeep to keep an eye on Stiles. 

Stiles makes his way to the drink aisle and grabs two of their largest Monster Energy drinks. Scott recognizes this pattern. This, sugar-and-caffeine induced high that can only be a sign that Stiles is working towards solving some late night crime or looking too hard into something to find what others had missed.

He heads to the counter and smiles at the clerk, the gummy worms that he had been munching on before, long gone. The clerk, a young blonde girl, probably in her early twenties, rings up Stiles purchases, blatantly ignoring Stiles's doofy grin and what Scott is sure is Stiles's stuttering as he tries to get through a conversation with the attractive woman. 

"Yeah, I-I can't believe they only have one person here th-this late at night? Psh, that has to be kind of scary," Scott hears him say with an exaggerated eye-roll and a flourish of his hands. A chortle rises in his throat as Scott should not have expected anything less from Stiles.

The clerk gives Stiles a friendly smile, but one that pointedly states that she has no interest in him beyond giving him his purchases. Stiles awkwardly smiles back and takes his bag, opting to carry his bag of gummy worms in hand to finish them on his way out.

Scott finds that his heart rate has increased a bit at the thought of Stiles's exit. He's glad that the clerk had rejected him so thoroughly. It had been a while since Scott had Stiles to himself, and they could just hang out. He's more than excited, and he feels his blood begin to rise in temperature again.

Scott walks towards the front of the car, wanting to see Stiles. Wanting to hear his sarcastic remarks and jokes about Scott being so wolfed-out. Wanting to escape this hell caused by the moon and just be best friends again. Wanting to go back to his house and lounge on Stiles as they watch horror movies instead of trying to get him back to his usual state.

Stiles exits the store, and Scott is almost in enough light where Stiles could catch sight of him when the scent returns tenfold, and Scott's suddenly enveloped in red. He snarls as the pain hits him, and he's thrown back into a world of chaotic thoughts. The scent is still that overwhelming smell associated with desire, and Scott finds his body acting of its own volition, slowly moving toward Stiles on all fours. He wants Stiles. He wants him more than he should, and his blood is boiling.

Stiles hears the guttural throaty snarl, and he drops the bag of gummy worms that were being loosely held in his right hand. 

"Oh, fuck. Of course it's a full moon night" he mutters quickly catching sight of the swollen orb in the sky. His line of sight drops as he begins searching the parking lot for the source of the noise. He sees the golden eyes of a beta and visibly exhales with relief that the eyes aren't the red of the Alphas returned to exact their revenge on the Beacon Hills gang. He figures it must be one of Derek's wolves, which eases his fear slightly. The brown skin and scruffy dark hair of the werewolf finally enter into the light, and Stiles's expression ostensibly lightens before growing worried.

"Scott? Dude, what are you doing out here?" he asks, concern knitted into his brows. He doesn't get an answer, but merely another snarl as Scott begins approaching in an upright position, claws fully extended and slightly angled in front of him. 

"Dude, what's up with the creeper sideburns and fangs? Halloween come early again?" he jokes. Scott can hear that Stiles heart rate had increased, and on some level, he registers that Stiles is more afraid than he is letting on. But Scott can't stop himself from moving closer. Stiles smells good. More than good. Stiles smells irresistible, and Scott isn't sure why. He's never had the urge to kill or even hurt Stiles. Yeah, there was that time once or twice in the beginning, but Scott had worked so hard over the past year, and he had never felt this kind of attraction to Stiles.

"Scott, I know we haven't talked in a while, but, dude, c'mon. This isn't you." Scott is still moving closer, and Stiles starts backing away toward the wall beside the store's entrance. He thinks about turning and heading back in, but he doesn't want to endanger the life of the clerk. He fumbles through his small bag and whips out the bag of gummy spiders.

"Hah!" he screams flailing them about with a confident look on his face. Scott continues his slow walk towards him. Stiles shakes the bag of gummy spiders, the confident look on his face quickly turning into actual fear. His stutter, something that rarely happens around Scott nowadays, kicks into overdrive.

"D-d-dude, Can you just c-cut this o-out? It was f-funny for the first minute, but I-I'm over it." Stiles hand is shaking, and the gummy spiders and Monster drinks fall to the ground. Scott is ten or so feet away, taking in all of Stiles. The red haze seems to emanate from every pore on Stile's being. His long-sleeved black shirt and green plaid button-down are so heavy with the smell that Scott doesn't know if he can take it. It's like the smell has accumulated in the clothing. 

Scott steps forward, and Stiles steps back. Another step forward, and once more back. Stiles finds himself firmly against the wall now, and there's nowhere that he can move that will let him escape. Not with Scott's speed and strength.

"Fuck," Stile mumbles.

And then he's word vomiting."Dude, what's your anchor? Who or what? Like, I know Allison has been gone too, and we--you and me, Scott--we totally should have talked about that more. I should have been there. And yeah, I know I've been shit with the whole you and Isaac thing, but I wanted to be there, Scott. I just get...jealous sometimes. You know this. I was jealous of you in the fifth grade when Ellie gave you that special valentine. I was even jealous of you when you didn't have to play in PE because of your asthma. Scott, it's me. Just...anchor yourself, dude." There’s a pleading in his voice that Scott has only heard on rare occasions.

Scott actually stops. For a second, he just freezes, and his brain is processing. Connecting this image of Stiles, this image of a terrified and desperate Stiles, with that of his sarcastic and dorky friend. The guy who stood with him throughout this entire wolfy journey. The Stiles who went digging up dead bodies with him; who fought Alphas to save him; who held him at night when the stress of being there—being there for everyone—just seemed like too much; who meant more to him than anyone else, except maybe his mom. Stiles. Stiles. He knew and loved that Stiles.

Stiles’s breathing had leveled a bit, but Scott could still hear his heartbeat going faster than ever. And Scott’s breaking down. He feels it happening in his chest, and he can’t control it. He feels that last push towards the edge of a cliff, and suddenly, he’s tumbling over it. Before Stiles has time to react, Scott surges forward. Their bodies are pressed together, and Stiles’s eyes are closed, but a couple of tears still roll down his face. He thinks he’s going to die. He knows he might die.

But Scott doesn’t bite him. The tip of his tongue traces the path of one of Stile’s tears, running from his chin to the upper part of his cheek. He’s panting, out of breath and barely able to connect his thoughts in a logical manner. His breath still warm against Stiles’s cheek.

Stiles opens his eyes, and he sees Scott’s face. Scott’s face. Not that of the wolf that dominated him on night’s like this, but the actual face of his best friend.

They’re still entirely too close. Scott can feel Stiles’s body trembling, and Stiles is too warm because of the heat pouring off Scott. Neither one moves. Their eyes are locked, the golden glow of Scott’s eyes now the lovable brown that Stiles had grown accustomed to.

Scott decides to break the stillness first. He stretches his hands out, lightly placing them on Stiles’s hips. He wants to stop the shaking, to end the terror that his friend is feeling. His hands do little to ease it, and then he decides. Without another thought, he raises his head a bit and pushes his lips against Stiles’s. They’re wet. Wetter than Scott expected, but he still finds it pleasant. His lips begin moving, just the smallest amount to coax Stiles into responding. Stiles begins to follow his lead. His arms are still firmly by his side, but he’s kissing Scott back now. He’s following the gentle duck and weave of Scott’s head, opening his mouth a bit more to allow Scott’s tongue to lightly dance along his lower lip.

Scott breaks. He pulls back, still breathing heavy, and makes eye contact with Stiles once again.

“A-are you okay?”

“Uh…yeah, I think so. I mean, as far as almost being killed and then…this, whatever this was, it could have ended up so much worse,” Stiles says, swiping at his cheeks to rid himself of the few remaining tear streaks

“I-I didn’t know how to stop you from trembling, and….”

“And…what?” Stiles pushes, finally composing himself for the most part. He's serious for once--demanding that Scott be the same.

“I wanted to do it. I’m sorry, dude,” Scott says, backing away and finally creating some space between them. “This whole thing…this whole night, I’ve been running around out of my mind because I kind of lost myself after breaking up with Allison again. And then, you weren’t around to talk about it with, and Isaac is great, but he’s not you, Stiles. I always thought that Allison was my anchor. My whole life was nothing except before I met her and after meeting her, and she became the thing that I attached this whole wolf-out stuff too. Or at least I thought I attached it to her.”

“You _thought_ she was your anchor?”

“Yeah, I don’t think she was actually my anchor,” Scott replies, still keeping his distance from Stiles. The kiss was more than he intended, and he still isn’t sure about how his friend will respond to what he wants to say.

“Dude, I was there. We did the whole control thing. I threw lacrosse balls at you.” Stiles finally brings himself back into the moment. It's Scott he's talking to. Just Scott. He relaxes, and Scott takes note. 

“Yeah, and I was definitely thinking about Allison at the time, but she still wasn’t what anchored me, Stiles.” He takes a deep breath, and rushes. “It was you.”

“Explain.”

“Tonight, all that I could see and smell was a scent that drove me wild. And, it was the same exact scent that I attached to Allison, so I assumed the scent tonight was her the entire time. I assumed that Allison was near, and I needed to be with her to help me control this…thing. But the scent was coming from you. I can’t explain it, dude. It’s longing and desire and attraction,” and he’s stumbling over his words, but he can’t stop himself. “I know that’s weird, and I’m going to work on this before the next full moon. You shouldn’t have to be my anchor. You shouldn’t have to be _here_ for me to be okay, Stiles.”

“So, y-you’re telling me that you’re into me?” Stiles says with a hint of a joking tone in his voice, a slight roll of his shoulders occurring while he talks--signs that he's okay. He's okay with everything that's happening.

“Yes. No. I-it’s not the same. It’s something more. I just can’t explain it, dude. I just know that your scent drives the _wolf_ wild, and when I focus on you, really focus and get through the haze, it makes _me_ feel a lot less lonely and gives me something to hold onto and satiates the wolf. I just...want to be near you more.” Scott’s head drops, partly out of embarrassment at rambling on about this and partly because he’s disappointed in himself for putting this all on Stiles. He’s the protector. He’s the one who should be keeping Stiles safe and not putting him in danger.

“And do you want to kiss me more? Is that a part of it too?” Stiles asks stepping forward towards Scott, his brain finally having processed everything that was going on. His body no longer affected by what had just happened.

Scott’s voice catches in his throat until he forces himself to speak around the lump building there. “Sometimes. This is just the first time that it has gotten to this point. The werewolf thing can just boil down to horniness sometimes and giving into that physicality is the only way to keep it at bay. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that being wolfed-out makes me want to do these things, but I promise that I will get over this. I’m not going to let this ruin our friendsh—“

Stiles is kissing him. His lean and awkward body is pressed against Scott’s, his hands now the ones on Scott’s waist. He sucks on Scott’s lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and caressing it with his own, slightly grazing it with his teeth. A moan that escapes from Scott’s mouth fills his own, and he moves with the moan, rolling his hips forward and grinding his crotch against Scott’s visibly hard dick.

Scott pulls his head back, sad to break the kiss, but searching Stiles’s eyes, needing to know why.

“Dude, with all of the shit that you do for me, I’m not going to turn you away." He's still unsure. Scott can hear it in his rising heartbeat. He guesses that Stiles doesn't know if he can commit to this. "You’re always doing this, Scott. You’re always placing the burden on yourself, never allowing anyone else to support you. I can’t protect people like you can. I can’t even protect myself. I k-know that I never say thanks for saving my ass, but this is it. If you need me, I-I’m here, Scott.”

Stiles drops his hands from Scott’s waist, and stares at him intensely waiting for a response. Scott can hear his heartbeat slowly leveling out, though. Slowly finding his resolve.

“But, the kissing? And maybe more? This is physical, and Stiles, if you’re not into it, I’m not going to ask you to do it. I can’t, and I won’t.”

“Have you seen yourself? This might be news to you, Scotty boy, but you’re not the worst thing on the eyes,” Stiles jokes, poking Scott in his stomach. "I mean, yeah, this is a little weird, but you’re a werewolf. I’ve learned to roll with the weird. It’s not like I’m _not_ attracted to guys.”

“….when?” Scott’s face takes on his typical look of shock, with his mouth falling slightly open and his brows rising.

“While you and Isaac were getting buddy-buddy, I was talking to Danny about some things, and…doing some things…and yeah, Scott. We can talk about it later. The point is, I _want_ to do this.” Stiles fumbles with his hands, and his eyes are averted while rushing through all of this, but Scott finally hears what he's been waiting for. The rhythmic beating of Stiles's heart. Steady and sure. He's made up his mind.

Scott gently places his fingers on Stiles’s chin, raising his head up so Stiles can see his famous smile taking over his face. The smile that starts with half of Scott’s mouth rising and his lips falling slightly open until the rest of his mouth suddenly realizes what’s happening and rushes to catch up. That smile that lights up the entirety of his face. And then he’s leaning in again, kissing Stiles again. Trying to thank Stiles without words. Their kisses gentle and explorative, but they're still desperate to communicate a need to the other, and it shows in the way their hands grip tightly to and around each other—Scott needing to express his loneliness to Stiles and Stiles wanting Scott to know just how supportive he wants to be for him. They break apart at the sound of Stiles’s phone going off.

“Hah, it’s your mom,” he laughs, reading the text from Ms. McCall. “She’s asking if you’re with me. I guess she hasn’t settled into the whole werewolf thing yet.” He sends a quick reply, and then bends down to pick up his bag, grazing Scott’s still-slightly-hard dick. They both laugh, still dealing with the situation as best as they can.

“I guess I should get back then. Mind giving me a ride?” Scott asks, looking down at his attire, or lack thereof. “Not really dressed to explain what I was doing outside at 1am.”

“Sure. But first, you owe me two more Monster drinks, another pack of gummies, and a horror movie night, preferably tonight so we can…uh…finish talking this out,” Stiles says, a blush creeping up from his neck. His heart is now racing. Scott’s laugh echoes throughout the empty parking lot.

_"Yeah, Stiles is definitely coming around to this."_

“Uh...deal. But I’m picking the movie.”

“Dude, you always pick!”

And like that, they’re falling back into their normal swing. Falling back into that comfortable rhythm where they just get each other. If only for the night, Scott’s loneliness is forgotten, and Stiles doesn’t feel useless. 

Scott stretches his hand out, gently squeezing Stiles's for a few seconds before letting go. It all feels too easy, but for the moment, they’re content in these new experiences, and the newness of it all. The itch of the full moon still pulls at Scott, but he's got it under control for now. He wants Stiles. He needs him, and as long as Stiles is within touching distance, he's fine. He's completely and utterly fine.


End file.
